


My Heart's Jittering

by Blossom_Melina



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Haircuts, Johnica Week 2020, Making Out, Romantic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:48:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22288903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blossom_Melina/pseuds/Blossom_Melina
Summary: In the summer of 1977, John Deacon decides to have his long, wavy auburn locks cut short. What prompted this decision, and what will his wife Veronica think? How will the other three members of Queen react?
Relationships: John Deacon/Veronica Tetzlaff
Comments: 16
Kudos: 26
Collections: Johnica Week 2020





	1. Where Life Was Leading

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Ra_chelB (@ra_rachel.b on Instagram) for providing the inspiration for this fic and giving me her blessing to write it! The inspiration is her “New Haircut” comic, which can be found here: https://www.instagram.com/p/B3wTstKI0aU/
> 
> Spoiler Alert: If you haven’t already seen Rachel’s comic and want to remain completely spoiler-free for my story, go view the comic after reading my story!
> 
> The idea to write this came to me when I was dozing off on the couch one day after work last week, as these things do. (Of course, I was wide awake after getting this stroke of inspiration, and stayed up way too late fleshing out ideas!)
> 
> This is my first ever Queen fanfic, and it’s also the first piece of fanfic I’ve written for any fandom since high school, and it’s also the first time I’ve written fiction of any kind that’s more than a long-form photo caption in almost a decade, so please be kind!

_ Summer 1977 _

John couldn’t believe he was about to do this. He was excited, sure, but he still couldn’t believe what he was about to do. He sat quietly, contemplative, as Sarah, his hairdresser, opened a drawer on the rolling cart next to the counter at her station, pulled out a black cape, closed the drawer with a nudge of her leg, and opened the cape with a flourish while draping it over John and securing it at the back of his neck. He watched in the mirror as Sarah unwrapped the towel from his head, set it aside, and proceeded to comb out his long, wet wavy hair that reached just past his shoulders. He thought about all the adventures and life events he’d experienced with his long hair—joining Queen as a shy university student at age 19, hitting the big-time with the band and touring all over the world (Japan especially was unlike anywhere else in terms of both the country’s culture and the reception they’d received both times they played there), and recording multiple albums and hit singles with them. As for his personal life, he’d met his wife Veronica around the time he joined Queen, dated her for nearly four years before marrying her when she became pregnant, bought his first home with her, and experienced the birth of their first child, Robert, who had just turned two.

As Sarah began to part John’s hair into sections and pin it up on top of his head to keep it out of the way, he glanced around the space out of the corner of his eyes. He observed a woman in the chair to his left getting her hair flat-ironed, and in the mirror he saw a man behind him having his shag haircut trimmed. He glanced at the counter in front of the mirror and saw the “Latest Men’s Hairstyles” look book opened to the page he and Sarah had selected in their consultation a few minutes ago; it featured a model with a shorter cut that came to just above the earlobes on the sides and angled down to collar-length in the back and had short, halfway-down-the-forehead fringe. It was shorter than what John had ever had since moving to London at 18, but it still left some length in the back, which was what he was looking for when deciding on a cut.

Sarah had just finished pinning up the last section of hair in the back, and all that was left hanging down was a small section at the nape of the neck that Sarah combed through one more time. John’s eyes followed as she went to her rolling cart, selected a pair of scissors sitting on top, and came back over to stand behind him. She looked John in the eye through the mirror.

“Are you sure you want to do this, love?” she asked. “Last chance.”

John looked her back in the eye through the mirror and considered for a second changing his mind and just having his usual get-rid-of-the-dead-ends trim, but then he remembered what had led to this decision in the first place. He also reasoned that it was time to try a new look, because he’d had the long hair since the decade began, and besides, trends were changing, and short hair was coming into vogue. He was excited to see what the new look would bring. He nodded back at Sarah and smiled.

“Yes,” he said. “Let’s do it!”

Sarah patted him on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit,” she replied as she made one more pass with the comb, tilted John’s head down ever so slightly, and positioned the scissors on the back right side of John’s neck; level with his button-down shirt collar. It was the red and white plaid shirt; one of his favorites. As she began to snip across the back of his neck, John thought, _No turning back now. I’m doing this. I’m actually having my hair cut short._

He shivered just a bit at the sensation of the cold steel of the scissors and at the newly formed ends of hair that now grazed the back of his neck. It felt weird, but then he supposed it would, not being used to having short hair for some time. As Sarah took down the section of hair above the one that was just cut and snipped that off, he thought back to the conversation that led to him being in his hairdresser’s chair in the first place, having his long locks lopped off.

* * *

_ Two Weeks Earlier _

John put the last forkful of fettuccine alfredo in his mouth as Veronica asked the waiter for the restaurant bill. They were having a date night out on the town, seated at the restaurant’s outdoor patio in the back, and it was a warm summer night with stars twinkling in the sky and not a cloud in sight. The patio was surrounded by a white trellis fence with pink rambling roses growing on it, and small potted beds of yellow and purple pansies dotted the patio area. Garden lanterns hung above their heads from an open-lattice wood ceiling, and John couldn’t help but look up and admire their glowing orange beauty as he chewed on the last bite of his creamy, al dente pasta. Ronnie had insisted on having this date night out and hired a babysitter to take care of Robert for the evening so she and John could just enjoy themselves for the night.

“Would you be interested in seeing our dessert menu this evening?” the waiter asked, interrupting John’s thoughts.

John looked back down and he and Ronnie glanced at each other, confirming their answers with their eyes.

“No thank you,” John replied. “Just the bill please.”

“Right away, sir,” the waiter replied back as he turned to leave. John looked back up at the garden lanterns.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they, Ronnie?” he said, reaching across the table for her hand.

“Yes, they are,” she said dreamily, a smile on her face, as she took John’s hand and looked up along with him. “This is one of the reasons why I love this restaurant so much. Well, that, and the delicious pasta.”

“It is very tasty,” John confirmed. He glanced down and stared into Ronnie’s eyes for a few moments and thought of how beautiful she looked under the lights. Her shoulder-length brown hair perfectly framed her face, which glowed with a soft, orange-yellow light from the lanterns, and her eyes twinkled with a sense of amazement and wonder. Her light blue dress with its olive green wildflower print also brought out her soft features, and John had to admit, also paired well with his own outfit: a white button-down shirt with cream-colored slacks and his midnight bluish-black waistcoat with its cream-colored floral pattern.

_I am so lucky to have a woman as wonderful as Ronnie_ , he thought.

Ronnie noticed John gazing into her eyes and returned the gaze before leaning in to give him a small peck on the lips.

“I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

The waiter returned with their bill, they settled up, and got up from the table to leave the restaurant. They had decided during dinner to go for a walk in the nearby park afterward, because the weather was too perfect to let the opportunity pass. They walked through the interior area of the restaurant to get to the exit, and as they got outside and made their way across the street to the park, John smiled contently at the feeling of warmth that filled his heart at the moment. He and Queen had just finished another successful tour for their last album, _A Day at the Races_ , and had also recently filmed a Top of the Pops performance for their new single, “Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy”. The band were now enjoying a month off to recharge before going back into the studio to record their next album. Their holiday was about to come to a close; they were due back in the studio next week, and John was grateful to have this alone time tonight with his wife before returning to work. He loved being a member of Queen and making music, and he loved traveling all over the world and playing for their fans, but he had to admit it was grueling to be on the road for months at a time. Plus, he would get homesick for Ronnie and Robert while away. Yes, this month off from it all was much-needed.

John took his hand in Ronnie’s as they strolled along a path of perfectly maintained rosebushes to their left, with an open grass area to their right bordered by freesias, gladioli, and sweet peas in full summer bloom, lampposts and moonlight casting warm light on it all. He smiled, and Ronnie sighed contentedly.

“This date night has been lovely, John,” Ronnie said, leaning her head on his shoulder as they strolled down the path.

“Yes, it has; I’m glad you suggested this. We’re not going to have as many of these for a while when we start recording the new album.”

Ronnie’s smile faded slightly. She wholeheartedly supported her husband in his career choice, but she did have to admit that him being gone for months at a time was hard on both her and their young son. “I’m glad the band decided to stay in town and record the album this time, because I missed you when you were gone on tour. And Robbie missed you.”

Now John’s smile faded somewhat. He shivered a bit, despite the summer warmth. Ronnie turned to look at him with a concerned look on her face.

“What’s wrong, John?” she asked.

John sighed, and turned to look at his wife. If he thought she looked beautiful under the garden lanterns’ glow at the restaurant, he thought she was absolutely radiant under the moonlight, her flower print dress pairing especially well with the plants in the garden and her creamy skin glowing under the moonlight.

“I wish Robert were a little older so you could travel more easily with him,” he admitted. “I’d love to have both of you join me on tour some time, because I miss you, too, when I’m away. Terribly.”

Ronnie squeezed his hand tighter. “You mean the three of us,” she said casually, face expressionless.

“Three of us--?” John asked, confused, before stopping abruptly on the path and whirling around to the side to face Ronnie, eyes wide.

“Wait…you mean—”

“I’m pregnant, John! Again!” She broke into a wide, excited, warm grin, face beaming.

John stood in place on the path, slack-jawed for a few moments. Then, his eyes began to sparkle with excitement, and he broke into a big, toothy grin.

“You’re joking, Ronnie!” he exclaimed with a chuckle. Ronnie nodded, grinning from ear to ear, barely able to contain her excitement.

“I’m going to be a dad again!” John cried with excitement.

Ronnie nodded and smiled wider, tears brimming in her eyes. “Yes!” she exclaimed. “We’re going to be parents for a second time!”

“We’re going to be parents again!” John choked out, a lump forming in his throat, and a tear rolling down his cheek.

“We’re going to be parents again!” he repeated excitedly. He picked Ronnie up, and she yelped with surprise as John spun her around in the air and then put her back down on the path.

“Wait—” John stopped short, hand slowly creeping up to his mouth in realization. “The glass of wine at dinner—”

“I had the waiter swap it for a glass of white grape juice while you were in the loo,” Ronnie explained, and a wave of relief washed over John.

“Sneaky, Ronnie!” John exclaimed. “…and was this part of the plan, too, to come to the park after dinner and tell me?”

Ronnie nodded sheepishly.

“You little sneak!” John leaned over and kissed her on the lips. “Love you, Ronnie.”

“Love you too, John.”

“We’re going to be parents again, Ronnie,” John sighed happily with a wide grin on his face.

“We are.” Ronnie smiled contentedly and started walking down the path again, and John followed. They walked in happy, warm silence for a bit until they spotted a bench swing tucked between two trees, with purple and pink foxgloves and veronicas surrounding them. Ronnie asked if John wanted to sit and enjoy the scenery for a bit, and he nodded.

“When will the baby come?” he asked as they sat down on the bench swing, putting his arm around his wife and rubbing small circles on her back while they rocked back and forth.

“The doctor said sometime in late January or early February, so we have a few more months to prepare. I wonder if Robert will be old enough to understand.” She began to gently run her fingers through her husband’s hair. It wasn’t as long as it had been before the last tour; it sat just below his shoulders now instead of halfway down his back like it did previously. Still, Ronnie enjoyed playing with John’s hair any opportunity she could.

John leaned into Ronnie’s hand in his hair. “I wonder if he’ll get jealous of the new sibling, since he or she will command all the attention.”

“Well, if he’s anything like his dad, he’ll be a loving, caring big brother to him or her.” Ronnie beamed, looking over at John with love in her eyes. John felt his heart swell, and he beamed back and leaned down to peck her on the lips and then turned back around so Ronnie could continue to thread her fingers through his hair.

“And if the baby is anything like his or her big brother, he or she will pull your hair all the time, just like Robert!” Veronica quipped with a chuckle and a sly grin on her face.

John stopped suddenly, his blood running a bit cool. He thought about all the times Robert had pulled his hair over the past two years and despite him trying to teach him not to do that, and even resorting to putting it in a ponytail at home, Robert still loved to grab onto his hair and give it a good, strong, _painful_ yank. For someone so little, he sure had a strong pull! He had started it up again recently; not as often as before John had left on the last tour at the beginning of the year, but even once was more than enough.

“…John?” Veronica asked, a bit of concern in her voice. “Is everything okay?”

“Huh?” John brought his attention back to his wife cuddled up next to him.

“Is everything okay? You seemed a bit concerned just now.”

“Oh. Y-yes. Everything is good, honey.” He paused, thinking about Ronnie’s announcement on the moonlit path just a little bit ago and smiled. “Robbie’s going to be a big brother,” he beamed.

“He is,” she breathed happily, settling further into John’s cuddle. They sat like that for a while on the bench swing, rocking back and forth while enjoying the view and sitting quietly with their thoughts. John felt ecstatic about the new child that would be arriving in a few months, but he also couldn’t help but think about Ronnie’s quip about the new baby pulling his hair. She was just being cheeky, but maybe she had a point. _I **really** don’t want to go through that experience again!_ John thought, _But, what to do? What to do…_

* * *

_ In the Salon _

“…and the dog threw up on my boyfriend’s mum’s expensive Oriental rug!” Sarah exclaimed with a laugh. “You should have _seen_ the look on her face!” she cackled, snipping off pieces of hair from the back of John’s head. John chuckled at the conclusion of her story.

“I reckon she wasn’t too happy,” John replied.

“She was _furious_!” Sarah combed a chunk of hair, took it in her finger, and snipped it off above her finger. “She threatened to ‘send the dog to a farm in the country’ right then and there!”

John laughed as another chunk of hair was combed, taken in between Sarah’s fingers, and cut off, falling to the floor. He had to admit, he did feel a bit lighter already.

“Okay, John,” Sarah began, abruptly changing the subject, “The back is done; now I’m going to cut the sides short.”

“Okay,” John replied as Sarah unpinned a section of hair next to his right ear and let it cascade down his shoulders. John looked at it as she combed it out, thinking that it looked strange when paired with the now short hair in the back. As Sarah lopped off the lengthy piece of hair at John’s earlobe, his eyes went wide as it landed with a light thud on the cape and then slid to the floor.

“A lot of hair,” he remarked. “Took a long time to grow out,” he mused with a slight chuckle.

Sarah got a slight look of concern in her eyes, stopping to look at John. “Are you having regrets, John?” she asked, one eyebrow cocked.

“No, no,” he answered truthfully. “Just making an observation.”

Sarah patted him on the shoulder and then continued with her “comb-finger-snip” routine. “Good, ‘cause it’s not like you can’t glue it back on, you know.”

She—and John—had a laugh.

“And at least this way, your kid won’t pull your hair anymore,” she added.

John looked in the mirror at his short-hair side, considering his new look. “You do make a good point.” He flashed his gap-toothed grin and chuckled.

* * *

_ 18th of July, 1975 _

John and Veronica were in Veronica’s hospital room shortly after she gave birth to their first child, a boy. The nurse had just delivered the boy to the new parents after cleaning him up, and John sat on the side of the bed next to Ronnie after getting up out of the chair to turn off the telly, cuddling her as she held the newborn baby to her chest.

“We did it, John. Look what we made,” Ronnie said, a tired but happy and fulfilled look in her eyes.

“Yes, look what we made indeed,” John breathed, his heart swelling with pride. The baby cooed in reply. “See, he agrees!” He and Ronnie chuckled.

“What should we name him?” Ronnie asked John, stroking his arm. The baby breathed in and out, his tiny body moving up and down on Ronnie’s chest.

“Robert,” John said with a shy smile. “It--it’s my favorite name for a boy, and I’ve always wanted to name my boy Robert if I ever had one.”

The baby looked over at the sound of John’s voice and seemed to coo in reply. Ronnie sighed happily, and John had a wide grin on his face, tears welling up in his eyes.

“See? He likes it already!” John insisted.

“I agree. Robert is a lovely name. Let’s call him Robert…John.” Ronnie beamed at her husband, who shed a tear.

“Robert John Deacon it is,” John said proudly, heart swelling with love and warmth, happy tears streaming down his face. John leaned down to pick up the newborn Robert from Veronica’s chest and held him close.

“Hello, Robert,” John said softly to the newborn, stroking his face with his finger. “I’m your daddy. And that’s your mummy.” He smiled at Ronnie, who was glassy-eyed. “We’re going to teach you everything you need to know about life and how to be a good person.” He bent down to softly kiss Robert on the top of his head, and it was now Ronnie’s turn to have tears streaming down her face. John leaned over and gently pecked his wife on the cheek.

“Look at us,” he observed. “A little family.”

Ronnie sighed contentedly. “ _Our_ little family.” She reached for John’s hand.

“Yes, Robert, _our_ little family,” John cooed at the newborn, peering down at him. Robert looked up at the sound of his dad’s voice and cooed back. John went to hand him back to Ronnie, and as his long, wavy hair brushed past Robert’s tiny palm in the process, Robert gripped onto the hair and squeezed. Veronica chuckled at John wincing in pain.

“He likes your hair,” she said, smiling. “Just like his mum.”

“I suppose,” John said, trying to loosen his son’s grip. “Robbie,” he said softly, “Let go of my hair. That hurts Daddy.”

Ronnie laughed softly, grinning from ear to ear. “He’s not doing it on purpose, dear. He was just born today.”

“Yes, you were just born today,” John cooed at his new son. “But you still need to let go,” he said, finally loosening Robert’s grip on his hair and handing him off to Ronnie, who just laughed softly. John got up off the bed and sat down in the chair next to the bed, and the young family quietly enjoyed each other’s company until the three of them drifted off to sleep.

* * *

_ Summer 1976 _

John and Veronica were enjoying a quiet evening at home one warm, summer night. Queen were in the midst of recording their latest album, _A Day at the Races_ , and John was enjoying the extra time at home with his wife and young son, since they’d decided to do most of their recording in London for this album. The band had decided to take their time recording this one after an exhaustive world tour at the beginning of the year, and John—and Ronnie—were grateful to have the extra time together at home. Ronnie had just gone to the kitchen to wash the dishes from dinner, and John was left to tend to baby Robert, who was now one year old, and get him ready for bed. After giving him a bath, John took Robert to his bedroom to get him changed into his pajamas and then sat in the rocking chair in the corner of Rob’s bedroom, holding him while humming softly.

“I wrote this one for your mum,” John explained to his son. “ _You’re the best friend, that I’ve ever had_ ,” he sang softly, “ _I’ve been with you such a long time. You’re my sunshine, and I want you to know, that my feelings are true, I really love you. Oh, you’re my best friend._ ”

Robert babbled back at his father, looking up at him with his big brown eyes.

“And you’re my best friend, too,” John said, smiling down at the baby, who now had a head full of sandy brown curly hair, as he kissed him on top of his curls. “I love you more than life itself, little man.”

John heard a soft, content sigh from behind, and he turned to see Ronnie standing in the doorway, a smile on her face, eyes shiny.

“Ronnie,” he said, a bit surprised.

“That was _beautiful_ , John,” she breathed, a hand to her chest, walking into the room toward her husband and son. “See, you can sing, dear!” she insisted, placing a hand on his shoulder.

John chuckled, a pink blush of embarrassment creeping up on his face. “I don’t know about that..”

“Well, _we_ enjoy it, and that’s all that matters,” Ronnie insisted. “Don’t we, Robbie?” she cooed, bending down to lightly tickle her son on his stomach, and the baby giggled in response. John grinned widely at the scene playing out in front of him, his heart filling with warmth and love. The three of them stayed like that for a moment, when John suddenly felt an all-too-familiar by now yank. Tears of pain pricked his eyes as he looked down to see Robert with his little hands in his hair…again.

“Robert!” John yelped. “Don’t _do_ that! That hurts Daddy!”

“Dada!” Robert shrieked and giggled as he yanked harder, which made John wince even more, and he squeezed his eyes shut in pain. Ronnie howled with laughter at the scene playing out in front of her.

“It’s not funny, Ronnie!” John cried. “It really—Ouch!—hurts!”

“It’s _hilarious_!” his wife insisted, a cackle emanating from her lips.

“Robert, **_no_**!” John scolded, trying to loosen his son’s grip to no avail. “Let _go_! That hurts!” He turned to Ronnie, who was still shrieking with laughter like a hyena. “A little help?” he pleaded.

Ronnie bent down to Robert’s level and worked to loosen his grip on John’s abundant hair, which now reached mid-back. “Sorry, John,” she said between cackles, “But it _is_ really funny!”

“Because he—” John finally managed to loosen two fingers, “Never—” he grunted, loosening a third finger with Ronnie’s help, “Does this—” Ronnie freed a fourth finger, “To you!” he finished, finally freeing himself from Robert’s grip on his hair. He tossed his hair back behind his shoulder before Robert could grab hold of it again.

“I wonder why that is,” Ronnie mused, picking up Robert and putting him in his cot before he could pull his father’s hair again. “Maybe he likes your hair better. It _is_ rather handsome like this,” she said, stroking his wavy hair and tucking a loose strand behind his ear. John blushed in response.

“Have you considered wearing a ponytail?” she asked, looking down at John, an authoritative look in her eyes. John scoffed at the idea.

“Ponytails are for birds,” he insisted.

“And so was long hair at one point,” Ronnie said, raising an eyebrow at her husband. “Think about it, John. It would only have to be at home. At least Robbie wouldn’t pull your hair this way.”

“Well, you do make a good point,” John conceded. “I’ll give it a go some time.” He titled up his head to peck Ronnie on the lips.

“Good. I’m going to go down to the sitting room to put the telly on,” Ronnie replied. “Are you coming?”

“In a minute. I just want to finish saying good night to Rob first.”

“You’re a good dad,” Ronnie said, smiling, walking over to the cot to kiss Robert goodnight before heading downstairs.

* * *

_ Summer 1977, In the Salon _

Sarah was almost finished cutting John’s hair by this point, having blow-dried his hair and trimmed his fringe. She was doing the final fine-tuning, snipping away at bits that were still a bit too long, or just didn’t sit quite right. John was facing away from the mirror at this point, having been spun around to the side for the blow-dry and fringe trim, and he was excited to see what the final result would look like. Sarah combed through John’s hair one last time, and then stepped back to check her work from a distance. She circled the chair, giving the haircut a final once-over, and then picked up her dusting brush from her rolling cart to brush the excess hair off John’s neck and shoulders. She set the brush back down and came back behind John, unbuttoning the cape.

“Okay, John, I think we’re finished,” she replied, taking the cape off halfway, folding the top half in his lap in case she needed to put it back on to do any adjustments. “You ready to see?”

John nodded. “Y-yes,” he replied with anticipation.

Sarah spun the chair back around to face the mirror. “What do you think?” she asked with an eager smile.

John stared back at himself in the mirror and blinked hard. He almost didn’t recognize the person staring back at him, now that his long, wavy hair no longer framed his face and was instead lying in a pile on the floor. He turned to each side to try to get a look, and in response, Sarah handed him a hand mirror and slowly spun the chair around, stopping long enough for John to get a look at each angle. While he was looking at the back, he put his hands through his new, short hair that did in fact look almost exactly like the reference picture from the look book.

“It feels so much lighter,” he admitted.

Sarah spun him back around to face the mirror and she waited in anticipation for John’s verdict, growing concerned that he didn’t like it the longer he didn’t say anything. John touched his hair once again, trying to get a feel for the new style.

“Yes...” he finally said, turning his head to view the sides, “It looks quite nice, actually.”

“Yeah?” Sarah asked, an eager, hopeful tone in her voice. “Do you like it?”

John nodded. “This is nice.” He flicked at the ends of his hair at the side of his neck.

A wave of relief washed over Sarah’s face. “I was afraid you were going to say you didn’t like it!” she exclaimed. “You had this look on your face like, ‘How am I going to tell her it’s too short?’”

John had a chuckle. “Yes, it’ll take a bit of getting used to, I suppose, but I do rather like the look of it.” He ran a hand through his hair again. “I’m not sure my wife will be too pleased, though,” he admitted, a look of worry crossing his face.

“She’s going to love it,” Sarah insisted, fully removing the cape from John and shaking it out onto the floor, bits of auburn hair falling. “It accentuates your cheekbones, and she won’t be able to resist that handsome face of yours!”

John turned pink as he got up out of the chair and went to pay, commenting on the large pile of hair on the floor along the way. (“Can’t believe that all used to be on my head!” he’d remarked.) After he settled up his bill, he shook hands with Sarah and thanked her for her services that day, and then opened the salon door and walked out onto the sidewalk and to his car to head to the studio. John admittedly felt lighter with each step, though he didn’t recognize himself in the reflection of store windows and stopped with a startle whenever he caught himself in one, wondering who that strange man was walking near him.

_Huh_ , he thought, staring at himself in a shoe store window, _Guess this will take more getting used to than I thought!_


	2. Music is Playing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interlude in the studio with the other members of Queen while they record News of the World.

John walked down the hallway inside Wessex Sound Studios to the studio space where Queen were recording their new album, bass guitar case in hand. He wondered if anyone had arrived yet and decided if he was alone he’d start work on a new song idea, one with a Latin beat, that he had bouncing around his head. He preferred to have peace and quiet while writing and would typically present a finished product to the band, whereas Brian would present only loose ideas and have the full band flesh them out. Freddie and Roger tended to fall somewhere in between.

John passed by Studio B, where the Sex Pistols were recording their album, and shook his head at the memory of Johnny Rotten crawling into their studio one day—on all fours, no less!—crawling up to Freddie’s piano, saying hello to him, and then crawling back out again. John had also seen Johnny have normal conversation with Brian in the hallway, but the literal crawling to Freddie’s piano was the most bizarre thing he’d seen in a studio space, even with Roger’s antics taken into account.

John turned the corner to Studio A, where Queen were recording, and heard a familiar, high-pitched voice wafting down the hall. _I guess I’m not writing today,_ he thought, as he walked closer to the familiar voice as it grew louder.

“…no bloody instruments!” the high-pitched voice yelled. “How can you have a song with _no bloody instruments_?!”

John sighed, knowing Roger and Brian were having yet another heated songwriting argument, even without hearing the other voice reply in return.

“I can play my damn drums, y’know!” he heard Roger retort in a whiny yell. “I _am_ one of the best in the business, despite what _you_ say!”

“Nobody is saying you can’t,” John heard Brian reply in his matter-of-fact, yet slightly exasperated tone. He had reached the outside of the door and sighed and rolled his eyes as he walked into the recording space. Brian and Roger were so engrossed in their argument that they didn’t see John walk in, sit among the cluster of chairs in the back of the room, set his case down, and take out his bass and start tuning it.

“Then why can’t I play my drums? _You_ get your precious guitar solo!”

“It’s _my_ song, Roger!”

“Mi _mi_ mih, Mih-mi!” Roger mimicked, contorting his face and shaking his shoulders up and down to the rhythm of his mocking. John stifled a laugh at the sight. As ridiculous as they were both being, Roger did have a point about Brian’s long guitar solos.

“Boo-hoo-hoo-hoo,” Brian mocked back, imitating a crying baby while balling his hands into fists and scrunching up his face, pretending to wipe away tears. Roger flipped Brian the bird in response, and Brian rolled his eyes at Roger and went back to tuning his guitar. John bent his head back town toward his bass, strumming and turning the knobs as needed.

“I need a ciggy,” Roger announced loudly, and retrieved the pack of Marlboros from his back pocket. He started toward the door to go outside—Brian had insisted on no cigarettes in the studio—and casually called out to John, who he’d seen out of the corner of his eye on his way to the door.

“Hey, Deacy,” he said, turning to the bassist while still walking toward the door and then turned back to the door.

“Hi, Roger,” John said, looking up from his bass, then looking back down.

Roger was about to open the studio door when he stopped in his tracks and sharply turned toward John, eyes wide, realizing there was something different about him.

“Hey, Deaks!” he yelled out, and John looked up in response to his nickname.

“Your hair, Deacy! Brian, look! Deacy cut his hair!” He pointed at John.

John turned pink at the attention drawn to him as Brian looked up from tuning his guitar and over at him.

“So he has…” Brian mused, his facial expression unreadable.

“Yes, just before coming here, actually,” John replied. “So what’s this new track you two are going on about?” He wanted to get the attention off of him, because he knew they would just repeat all of this when Freddie returned from the loo…or wherever he’d gone.

“Remember on our last tour, wh-” Brian began, but he was cut off by Roger.

“It doesn’t have any fucking instruments!” Roger wailed, hands in the air. “He wants us to _stamp our bloody feet_ and _clap our bloody hands_!” Brian gave him a hard sideways glance, and John stared at him in utter confusion.

“ _Anyway_ …I want to give the audience a way to participate in our shows,” Brian began. “Remember on our last tour, when the audience was singing back to us?” John nodded, and Roger stood there looking at Brian as if to say, _What’s your point?_ “It was overwhelming, but it felt _brilliant_. I want to give them a way to participate along with us. They don’t have a lot of space, so what can they do? They can clap their hands; they can stamp their feet.”

“But do _we_ have to stamp our feet?” Roger whined. “Why can’t we play our instruments like we usually do?”

Brian shot him another sideways glance

“Go on,” John encouraged. He was intrigued, albeit still a bit confused.

“So the idea is for us to set the rhythm by clapping our hands and stamping our feet,” Brian finished with an expectant look on his face.

John nodded, slowly warming to the idea. “Good, good. We can give it a go.”

Roger rolled his eyes and tipped his head back in response, as if to say, _Good god, Deacy, not you, too!_

John looked around the room. “Where’s Freddie?” he asked, not having seen the singer anywhere since he arrived. “Is he in the loo, or…?”

“He’s late,” Brian said with a hint of annoyance.

“Typical.”

“Deacy! You got some back chat with this new haircut!” Roger exclaimed, smiling, and John just shrugged in response while Brian rolled his eyes and clapped once to get their attention.

“Let’s give it a go, shall we? We can catch Fred up later,” Brian said. He led Roger and John up to the risers, and he stood in front of them.

“Now, the rhythm goes like this,” he began. “Stomp your foot twice,” he stomped his right foot. “And then clap once.” He clapped his hands. “Stamp your foot twice again,” he stomped his right foot, “And then clap.” He clapped. “And repeat.” Brian repeated the stomp-stomp-clap routine, and Roger and John joined in, with Roger giving a John a _Can you bloody believe this?_ glance, and John shrugging an _I don’t know… just go with it!_ in response.

**_SLAM!_ **

The door burst open, and the three of them looked up to see Freddie waltz in and casually toss his bag and jacket on one of the chairs in the back of the room. Brian, Roger, and John glanced at each other and just shrugged, as if to say, _That’s our Freddie!_

“Sorry, I’m late, darlings!” Freddie called out. “What did I miss?”

“Brian’s new ‘Audience Participation’ song,” John said. “It doesn’t have any instruments!”

“Except for Brian’s guitar solo at the end!” Roger said with a scoff.

Brian sighed at his bandmates’ antics as Freddie walked over to the rest of the band. “I want to give the audience--”

“Hold that thought, Bri.” Freddie held up his finger at Brian as he sauntered over to John, with Brian pinching his lips in annoyance.

“Deacy, dear!” Freddie gushed. “You’ve had your hair cut!” He reached out to gingerly touch John’s hair.

“Y-yes, I have,” John said, the pink rising in his cheeks yet again. Even with being in a world-famous band, he’d never gotten used to having personal attention showered on him.

“You look simply _charming_!” Freddie continued to gush, swirling his hand in the air with a flourish. “Now we can see that handsome face of yours!”

“But he’s still not as handsome as me!” Roger playfully retorted, and Freddie, Brian, and John all shot him a glance.

“You look great, Deaks,” Roger said with a smile as he came over to John and gave him a friendly slap on the back, and John smiled back in return. “You’re very on-trend, like me.” Roger had cut his own hair into a messy, short shag during their last tour and pulled off the look well, as far as John was concerned. But then, Roger has always been able to pull off any look he tried, no matter how outrageous.

“Now the next will be Brian…” Roger continued, shooting a glance over at the guitarist.

“Never! I was born like this!” he retorted, pointing to his mass of dark brown curls.

“Come on, Brian darling! Cut your hair like the rest of us! You’ll be very trendy, and it’s lower maintenance!” Freddie insisted. Freddie had been the first to cut his hair shorter, into a shaggy pageboy-like style, at the end of last year. John reasoned he must have started a trend, with Roger—and now him—following suit. Part of him wondered if Brian actually _would_ be next!

“Yes, and I feel much lighter already!” John added, running a hand through his new haircut.

“No! Never!” Brian insisted.

“…though I don’t know if Ronnie’s going to like it. She was especially attached to my long hair,” John finished, looking a bit worried. He looked down at his shoes, face turning red.

“See?” Brian retorted. “Chrissie would _hate_ it if I cut my curls off!”

“Ronnie is going to kill me...” John moaned as he buried his head in his hands.

“She’ll _love_ it, darling,” Freddie insisted reassuringly, putting his hand on John’s shoulder. “Your new haircut makes you look more sophisticated and mature...in a good way, of course,” he added with a flourish and a smile, and it wasn’t lost on John that Freddie didn’t even try to hide his teeth as he smiled.

John removed his hands from his face. “Y-you think so?” He glanced over at the singer.

“I _know_ so. Ronnie won’t be able to resist.” John smiled shyly and blushed in response.

Brian walked over to John and put his hand on his opposite shoulder and flashed a genuine smile. “You do look great, Deacy,” he said, meaning it. “But I’m still not joining you three in your short hair escapades!”

Roger, John, and Freddie all rolled their eyes and chuckled in response.

“Yeah, and if Ronnie hates it, she’ll have to answer to me!” Roger insisited. “But I have a feeling our dear Deacy is getting _lucky tonight_ ,” he finished in a sing-song tone.

“You wish you could get _half_ as lucky,” John deadpanned. Three heads turned to look at him, eyes wide and jaws dropped.

“Deacy!” Freddie gasped, flabbergasted, hand to his mouth.

“I am _highly_ offended by your assumptions about my love life!” Roger exclaimed in mock offense. “What are you insinuating?”

“I’m not _insinuating_ anything,” John said in a neutral tone, the tiniest smirk at his lips. Roger’s eyes went wide as his jaw dropped, pretending to be further offended.

Brian clapped his hands in the air, having had enough of his bandmates’ nonsense. Roger, Freddie, and John all turned toward the guitarist.

“Shall we get on with it?” he asked, nodding toward his guitar resting on its stand on the riser.

“Yes, Brian…” the other three sighed as they took their places on the riser and caught Freddie up on the stomp-stomp-clap rhythm of the new “audience participation song”.


	3. Just You and I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John arrives home from the studio and Ronnie finally sees his new haircut.

John unlocked the front door to his house after arriving home from that day’s recording session. He walked inside, locked the door behind him, threw his keys in the wooden tray on the end table in the entry hall, and set his bass guitar case down next to the end table. He wondered if Ronnie was home and what she would think when she saw his new haircut. He was dreading her reaction, because he was sure she was going to hate it. John hesitated near the end table, stomach clenching with nerves. He’d begun to feel more nervous about showing Ronnie his new look while on his way home, and now that he’d arrived, the butterflies in his stomach fluttered with greater intensity.

“John?” Ronnie’s sweet, soothing voice called out. “Is that you, honey?”

“Y-yes, dear,” John called back. His heart began to beat faster and his blood ran cool.

“I’m in the sitting room!”

“I’ll be there in a minute!” John took a deep breath and exhaled. He hoped Ronnie would understand why he cut his hair, even if she hated it. He stood in the entry, breathed in and out again, and went to tuck his hair behind his ears out of nervous habit before realizing it was too short to do that now, so he instead smoothed down the hair near his ear, stroking his freshly shorn ends. He breathed out one last time, shook out his arms and legs, and then steeled himself for his wife’s bad reaction. He _really_ hoped she wouldn’t cry; he’d rather she yelled at him than cry. Yelling Ronnie was easier to calm down than Crying Ronnie.

“John?” Ronnie called out again.

“Coming!” This was it: the moment of truth. John walked down the hall toward the sitting room, hesitating right before the doorway. _I hope she doesn’t make me sleep on the sofa tonight,_ he thought as he approached the sitting room doorway.

“Ronnie,” he called out. “Pl-please don’t kill me..”

John heard Ronnie sigh from the sitting room. “John, whenever someone begins a sentence with ‘Please don’t kill me,’ it’s almost never good.” Her voice grew louder; she must have gotten up and started walking toward the hallway.

“What did you do?” she sighed. “Whatever it, is just-”

She stopped suddenly as John hesitantly tiptoed into the sitting room doorway. Ronnie’s hands flew to her mouth, her eyebrows shot up, and her eyes were wide and shiny and filled with an emotion John couldn’t quite read. John groaned to himself. _She’s going to cry… **shit**. Shit, shit, shit._

“John…” she breathed out in surprise. “Did you have your hair cut?!”

John nodded sheepishly and his face flushed pink. “Ronnie,” he began, walking into the sitting room, toward his wife, “I—I can explain…” He still couldn’t tell what she was thinking, and he hoped she would understand his reasoning.

Ronnie closed the gap between her and John and gingerly reached out to touch his temple, running her fingers through his freshly cut hair. She smiled; it started off small, but it quickly grew wider into a full-on grin.

“Explain how **_cute_** you look?!” Ronnie exclaimed excitedly, a twinkle in her eyes. She stroked John’s hair with more gusto now, and then grabbed onto John’s shirt collar and pulled him in for a wet, sloppy kiss on his lips before he could respond to her.

John’s eyes went wide in surprise, but then he deepened the kiss and allowed Ronnie’s tongue to snake its way inside his mouth, and his tongue found its way inside hers. She put her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, stroking her fingers through the back of his hair, and he responded by wrapping his arms around her waist and they stood like that in the sitting room doorway until they decided to come up for air a few minutes later.

“So..” John began, catching his breath, pulling away and beaming, “I take it you like my new haircut.”

“ _Like_ it? Deacy, I **_LOVE_** it!” Ronnie shrieked with delight, using his nickname, running her hands through his fringe and to the side of his head. “You look so handsome!” She planted another wet, sloppy kiss on his lips, and John returned the kiss back. Ronnie motioned toward the sofa, and John had barely nodded in reply before she practically dragged John over and threw him back-side down on the sofa, with her on top of him.

“What about Robert?” John asked, looking around for his young son.

“He’s down for the night. Now shut up and kiss me!”

John didn’t quite know what to make of his wife’s sudden friskiness, but he was relieved Ronnie was happy rather than upset, so he didn’t question it. They continued to make out, tongues exploring each other’s mouths, Ronnie snaking her hands through John’s hair and commenting on how cute and handsome he looked, and John running his hands through Ronnie’s hair in return and telling her how beautiful and radiant she looked. Ronnie moved to John’s forehead and planted kisses on it before moving down to his now-exposed earlobe and nibbling on it, whispering sweet nothings about how sexy he was to her. She worked her way down to his neck, where she nibbled and sucked until she gave John a hickey that he would have to try to hide from his bandmates the next day.

Ronnie made her way down to John’s shirt collar, where she made rapid-fire work of unbuttoning his shirt, and he sat up long enough for her to fully remove it and casually tossed it aside. Ronnie massaged his chest and kissed him in a meandering trail from his neck down to his waistband. John reached for the hem of her lilac dress and lifted it up, and Ronnie sat up momentarily and raised up her arms so John could remove it. He casually tossed it aside and it landed with a light thud on the carpet as he massaged her back and scalp while Ronnie continued planting kisses on his chest and running her hands through his hair, enjoying the feel of his freshly shorn ends.

Ronnie’s hands eventually snaked their way down to John’s belt buckle and she started to unbuckle it. John sat up in surprise.

“Whoa, Ronnie…Veronica!” he exclaimed in surprise, calling her by her full name. “On the _sofa_?”

“Yes, John!” she pleaded breathlessly. “I need you _right now_! Make love to me!” she whined, face flushed, throwing John back down on the sofa. He was thoroughly enjoying himself, but couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen his wife _this_ horny.

“Could we at least go up to bed? It would be more comfortable,” he reasoned.

“Oh, _fine_ ,” Ronnie sighed, giving in to John’s request. She got up off of him, yanked him off the couch, and tugged him up the stairs to their bedroom, not bothering to retrieve their clothes. They were barely inside the room, door shut, when Ronnie threw him down on the bed and made quick work of removing the rest of his clothes, and he of her bra and panties, and they made hot, sweet, passionate love like they hadn’t done in quite some time.

_Huh,_ John thought. _I guess Roger was right!_

* * *

John and Ronnie lay under the covers of their bed, beside lamps on, cuddling after their long lovemaking session, with Ronnie as the big spoon. She was normally the little spoon, but tonight she’d wanted to be the big spoon, so John obliged. Ronnie stroked John’s hair—she couldn’t keep her hands off of it!—and John leaned into Ronnie’s touch and massaged her thigh in return.

“Where did all this come from?” John asked, taking hold of her free hand and making small circles on her palm. “Don’t misunderstand; I thoroughly enjoyed myself, but I haven’t seen you this…frisky in quite some time. It’s just a haircut, Ronnie.”

“No, it’s not, Deacy,” Ronnie insisted, sitting up and looking straight-on at her husband. John sat up in return and faced her. “It’s…much more than that. This takes you to the next level. I loved your long hair, but this…” She waved her hand in John’s direction. “This is especially flattering. You look very grown-up and sophisticated with this new haircut, John.” She reached out to stroke his cheek. “And you can actually see those subtle cheekbones of yours now!”

John turned pink and smiled bashfully at his wife’s praise. “That’s what Freddie said!”

“He’s right, you know. Truth be told, I wish you’d done it a bit sooner.”

John stared back at her in surprise. “Really? I—I thought you were going to hate it and be cross with me,” he admitted, looking down, face flushed with embarrassment at how worried he’d been all day about his wife’s reaction.

“Cross with you?” Ronnie asked, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. “Why would you think that?”

“Well, y’know…because you loved the long hair and you loved playing with it all the time,” John said sheepishly. He instinctively went to tuck his hair behind his ear but instead stroked the hair next to his ear.

“I did, but—I wasn’t going to tell you this, because it’s your hair—I felt like you needed something different. The long hair was attractive when you were younger, but short hair suits you better now. It’s also becoming trendy at the moment,” she said with a wink.

“That’s what Roger said!”

“He’s right, too,” Veronica said matter-of-factly. “John, I’ll always love you no matter what your hair.” She took his hand and started stroking his palm with her thumb.

“I know…but I still want you to find me attractive.” John blushed slightly.

“I do. I always have, but I especially do now,” Ronnie said, leaning over to peck John on the lips, and he returned the kiss. They laid back down and went back to cuddling, facing each other this time.

“What did Brian say?” Ronnie asked out of curiosity, reaching out to stroke the hair at John’s temple. John reached out to play with his wife’s hair.

“He was quiet at first, but then told me it looked nice.” John paused for a beat, and then continued. “He says he’s still not cutting his hair, though,” he chuckled.

“I don’t’ think Brian will _ever_ cut his hair!” Ronnie cackled.

John shrugged. “There’s a first time for everything. Did you think I’d ever cut mine?” he asked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Good point. So, what made you decide to cut your hair anyway?”

“Well,” John began, “Remember Robert pulling my hair all the time?”

Ronnie smiled and chuckled. “Oh, I remember _fondly!”_

John playfully slapped her on the arm, and then went back to stroking her hair. “Well, he started doing it again since I’ve been home, and I didn’t want this happening with our new son or daughter,” he said, moving his hand to her stomach and placing it there.

Ronnie burst into laughter. “Is that _really_ why?!”

“Largely, yes. That, and the fact that shorter hair _is_ becoming more fashionable now...” John trailed off.

“Well, we’ll just have to see what our little Robbie thinks of Daddy’s new haircut in the morning!” Ronnie exclaimed, laughing.

“Yes, I suppose we will,” John chuckled, smiling. He leaned over to peck his wife on the lips. “I love you, Veronica.”

“I love you too, John.” She pecked him back, and they both reached over and turned off their respective bedside lamps and laid in bed, cuddling—with Ronnie as the big spoon—until they both fell asleep.


End file.
